


Dreaming of You All the Way From Warsaw

by colisahotnorthernmess



Category: Wheeler Dealers RPF
Genre: Arguing, Established Relationship, Frottage, Kissing, M/M, Making Up, Neck Kissing, Touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-15
Updated: 2019-03-15
Packaged: 2019-11-18 11:23:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18119828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colisahotnorthernmess/pseuds/colisahotnorthernmess
Summary: Mike is as pleased as punch with the rare FSM Syrena he has brought back from Poland; Edd not so much, knowing how hard it will be to source absolutely any spare parts for the car whatsoever. This is a discussion which continues in the bedroom."You can be such a bastard, sometimes," Edd hummed into his ear as he slid down over his body, the bed rocking slightly, the headboard clattering against the wall, giving the plasterwork grief - and Mike gasped harshly, biting his lip so that he honestly couldn't answer, as he felt a mouth caressing the outer of his ear in-between sentences. "With some of the basket cases you bring me," he told him."I don't mean to do it," he whimpered, becoming a tad shrill."And how did you really expect me to find spare parts for a such obscure Communist-era Polish car, Michael?"He supposed Edd had a point. He usually did.





	Dreaming of You All the Way From Warsaw

**Author's Note:**

> Please note that this is a work of fiction involving real people written by myself - it is a completely made-up fantasy and is in no way intended to cause offence.

"You can be such a bastard, sometimes," Edd hummed into his ear as he slid down over his body, the bed rocking slightly, the headboard clattering against the wall, giving the plasterwork _grief_ \- and Mike gasped harshly, biting his lip so that he honestly _couldn't_ answer, as he felt a mouth caressing the outer of his ear in-between sentences. "With some of the basket cases you bring me," he told him.

"I don't mean to do it," he whimpered, becoming a tad shrill; Brewer was having trouble concentrating on _what_ he wanted to say, what with China currently manipulating the _nerve-laden_ flesh of his left ear and upper neck with his tongue so deftly, and the _last_ thing he wanted to do was put his lover off by saying the wrong thing - he had a bit of a habit of putting his foot in it when it came to Edd, and he knew it; Mike _knew_ he had a big mouth. And he hoped he'd be putting it to good use later, he thought, with a smirk, as his eyes skimmed over Edd's mostly naked frame, and bulging boxer shorts which were soon to be removed. That _was_ , if Edd could ever bring himself to forgive him.

"And how did you  _really_ expect me to find spare parts for a such obscure Communist-era Polish car, Michael? Hen's teeth and all that," came a growl, the grey-haired man clutching at the sheets, covering them both.

He supposed Edd had a point. He usually _did_. And this rather _did_ sum up their whole relationship, with all of their petty little squabbles, be it regarding their love life or be it regarding the cars they renovated for their Discovery Channel programme. The two things regularly overlapped.

They fought like cat and dog on occasion and their opinions _would_ clash, and it was difficult for Mike having this... _vision_ for a car and not being able to actually carry out the work involved himself, and then _seeing_ that vision so _radically_ changed by Edd. But, having said that, though eccentric in his tastes - you only had to look at his extroverted dress sense and his affinity for turning everyday objects into vehicles, like his famous drivable sofa - the tall man's decisions were, mostly, usually right on the money and his paint choices impeccably judged. His mad modifications were just sometimes slightly _shocking_ at first glance and, often, an expense they couldn't afford on their tight budgets.

He remembered, fondly, their first disagreements and tiny quarrels - when, after a few seasons, they had become close enough friends to express a disliking of what the other one had wanted to do to a motor, or when Mike had first had his hand slapped for a poor purchase - because, in the early days, Edd would have just grinned and nodded regardless of whatever duff car Mike had driven back to him - bless his cotton socks.

And then he thought back to the first time they had resolved their arguments through... well, _this_ ; he reminisced about the first time they had slept together, after a particularly blazing row - the raw heat and the unbridled amorousness of it all and - in contrast - the way he had cradled China's head lovingly against his chest afterwards, a silver mop of hair which smelled of workshop fixes and axle grease, and the way that Brewer had said to him, hours later, having realised, "God, your feet must be poking out of the bottom of the bed, son," and Edd had admitted that they were hanging a good six inches over the edge and that he was bloody _freezing_.

Much like Mike himself had been, driving through the icy Polish rural landscape on his way back from collecting his latest find - he too had been _freezing_ as he had driven their most recent restoration to-be - an FSM Syrena - through the cold countryside and even starker cities, the yellow of the bodywork standing out against dismal, grey, brutalist buildings - beautiful in their own way, but painfully bleak - making his way to the coast through sleet and worse to have it shipped back to England. He'd had his eye on the Soviet-era legend for some time and had travelled _all_ the way to snowy Warsaw in order to find one.

He realised that Edd always thought that working abroad must have been one big exotic holiday - however - there was nothing tropical about the sub-zero temperatures in Eastern Europe that week - let me tell you. It was an amazing _coincidence_ \- coincidence perhaps not the word; perhaps,  _instead_ , a downright irony - that such sunny climes as Australia and Jamaica were _not_ nations famed for their car building. It was a coincidence which Mike would come to ponder with much disappointment.

He felt _sure_ Edd thought that all he  _ever_ did on these foreign trips was sunbathe, as he always seemed to come back with a tan; on _this_ journey, _all_ Mike had thought about was being back in Edd's warm arms, as he drove through bitter weather and prayed to god that his tiny, fiercely-whirring heater wouldn't pack in on him at the worst possible time. It was the only thing that saw him through the grimness of it all.

Oh, that and the delighted _look_ that would surely grace Edd's face upon seeing such a rare and unusual Eastern Bloc classic sitting in the workshop. Sadly, however, the rarity of this car would only come back to haunt him - as, despite the scarcity making it more valuable - rare, as _ever_ , translated into _extremely difficult to source parts for_. Edd's face hadn't been so happy after all, in the end and - suddenly - Mike felt thoroughly cold again, as if he was back in the Syrena on snow-covered Polish roads. His heart had sank.

But he genuinely needn't have worried; the project was well and truly finished, and in good time too. Tomorrow, they would travel to the Polish Embassy to pick up the Ambassador for a quick spin around London in their completed Syrena, painted in a red and white striped colourway to match Poland's flag - one of Edd's better ideas, though he'd better not _say_ that - at the risk of annoying him further. And he needn't have worried about their bickering, for he knew that it would always blow over, and by now it _had_. He had been shivering a little, what with his t-shirt off and on the floor beside of the bed - but, as Edd enveloped him within his large frame, he felt safe and loved, cocooned by the mechanic's long body, and anything but _freezing_ anymore. He'd come a long way from Warsaw.

"So, yes - you were right about it being a head-turner... _But_ ," Edd smiled, but his voice was demanding and it brought Mike back to where he was. "It was a nigh-on impossible task to get it running properly - you never _think_ about these things, Mike," he said, with a final peck to the older man's jawline, before moving down to his chest and belly with a sweeping motion of fervent kisses, stopping short of his groin and making a _point_ of it too - as to make Mike hiss in discontent - make him _mourn_ the loss of what was to come - before pulling himself up and sitting back on Brewer's legs, kneeling on the bed. But, no sooner as he had moved away, the car salesman couldn't wait to drag him forwards again and back into his grasp.

"I'll take it that you're sorry then," Edd giggled.

"Yeah... I am. I really am. I just thought it would make good telly viewing," he squeezed him, tightly. "And besides, if anyone's capable of sorting it, mate - it's you." He brought him closer for a hot and passionate kiss, fingers folding through salt and pepper locks.

"You flatter," their wet, sticky lips momentarily broke apart.

"No," came a throaty whisper. "I mean it. If something needs sourcing from the other side of the world, you 'ave it 'ere in no time; if something needs piecing together from about nine different parts you have lying about the garage, you seem to manage it; if a part needs building from scratch, I 'ave no doubt you can do it."

"You have a lot of faith..."

"Nah... I don't," he grinned at him, "You're just amazing at what you do." Wrapping both hands around China's bottom, he pulled him back down towards the mattress, until their bodies were desperately crushed in embrace, and their arousals met and ground against each other's - at all angles, needy and dying to be freed. "You're amazing at lots of things," he murmured, and he could feel the heat radiating from Edd's embarrassed blushes, their cheeks squashed together as they nipped and kissed at one another's necks.

"I suppose--" Edd lifted off the bed slightly, as if doing a press-up, and - as if he was _indeed_ doing a press-up - he was now rather red-faced and out of puff, chuckling between breaths, "It wasn't _all_ your fault. I mean, who _exactly_ cuts a steering column in half to _post_ it?" _That_ was a hiccup which had made his job _considerably_ harder; it hadn't been Mike's doing, true, but that _still_ didn't mean he wasn't going to get _what for_ because of it. That was, however, _what for_ of the mostly _enjoyable_ kind.

Mike laughed, reaching out to cup his face, "God... You can blame me for a lot of things, Edward - but you can't blame me for the Royal Mail's postal charges!"

"You'd let me blame you for _anything_ ," there was a smirk, as he emphasised every word, "So long as I carried on fixing the cars."

"You can carry on doing whatever you _like_ , sunshine," he gasped, guiding the younger man's head gradually downwards. "Don't stop."


End file.
